


The Kings Parting Gift

by zrd1155



Series: fanfic contest between my friends [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Coming of Age, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Subtext, copious liberties taken with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:47:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zrd1155/pseuds/zrd1155
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies, mournful Legolas is sent on a final mission by his father to find the King of the Dunedain, who he knows only as Strider. What he is meant to do on this assignment is unknown, but in the face of a shadowy future, the fate of Middle Earth may hang in the balance of this fateful meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings Parting Gift

The wind that snaked through the streets and archways of Dale was warm with the smoke of slowly dying flames. Across the ashen and blood stained bricks that paved the once bustling and thriving city were the bodies of man, elf, and orc alike, each equally alone in the final curtain call of death. It was down these melancholic streets that Thranduil quietly stepped, mindful of disturbing the dead’s peace.

He approached Legolas, who was observing the eerie calm of the town from a perch in a crumbled home. Legolas’ ears perked up when Thranduil approached, still wary and nervous. He turned and gazed at his downcast father, bracing for the disapproval that he was usually subjected to.

“I need your help, Legolas.” This was surprising to the young elf. His father seemed vulnerable to a degree that he had never seen before. “There is a young ranger in the north amongst the Dunedain, who they call Strider, son of Arathorn.” This was the first that Legolas had heard of this individual, and wondered why he was suddenly significant. 

“What is his name?” Legolas asked.

“That is for you to discover, but he is destined to be the leader of men. I do not ask you of this task lightly, but I trust you to prepare him for what is to come.” Legolas was not pleased with this assignment, his heart too heavy with mourning for his feet to move fleetingly.

“And what is to come?”

“That is, I’m afraid, something for myself, and the rest of Middle Earth, to find out.”  
Legolas approached the ranger’s camp from atop a great oak, having perched there to observe their movements. These were dangerous, unpredictable men, and he was loath to think how they would react if a stranger elf were to approach their encampment unannounced. But, he had no other option.

Almost immediately, rangers were upon him, training their arrows upon him and shouting orders for him to disarm or face death. Slowly, he removed his Elvish bow, caressing its smooth silver finish. He was unsure if he would ever see it again.

Once he had removed all of his armaments, a group of rangers approached and roughly led him into the encampment. They led him to the largest tent, so perfectly green that it nearly disappeared into the crisp backdrop of the forest. 

The rangers shoved Legolas to his knees, and one entered the tent. Three iron arrows were held inches from his sweating neck, restrained by three shadowy figures whose hoods obscured scruffy and virile faces. After what felt to Legolas like an eternity, which is something for an immortal being, a new figure exited the tent, and spoke in a voice that touched the elf in a way that he had never felt before.

“At ease Dunedain! Get him off of his knees!” The guards sheathed their weapons at the behest of the velvety voice, and carefully hoisted Legolas on to his feet. The figure before him was not hooded like the others, and a long-pipe protruded from his soft lips. His face had clearly not yet grown a hair, but long brown curls cascaded softly against his smooth cheeks, and his eyes spun many tails without the need to speak. 

In this moment, Legolas knew that he had found the man he sought.

“ You’re the one they call Strider, son of Arathorn.” The man grinned, sheepishly. 

“Ai. That’s what strangers call me, but my friends call me Aragorn. And any son of the good king Thranduil is a friend of mine. He was a brave soldier in the Last Alliance, with my forefather Elendil.” This surprised Legolas; truly, before him was a man of royal blood. This just intrigued him further. Aragorn continued. “Come into my tent.”

Legolas followed Aragorn into his tent, a modest place with merely a cot and some diagrams stuck to the walls. Aragorn sat upon his bed and looked up at his new elf friend.

“For what do I owe the pleasure of entertaining the son of Thranduil? Actually, I am so sorry, what is your name?” Legolas chuckled.

“My name is Legolas. I come to you to prepare for what is to come, or so my father says.” Aragorn scrunched his eyebrows, confused.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

“I come from a great battle at the foot of the Lonely Mountain against the forces of an Orc army. I am here at my father’s behest, but I did not know why until now. I believe that I must leave you soon, but we will meet again soon.”

“Will you not leave me a parting gift?” Aragorn smirked.

“I will, yes. You must not see many women folk in these parts, do you?”

“They are scant, but I am too busy with my operations here to worry about them.”

“Alas, you are fated to become a king, Aragorn. But every king needs their Queen. How are you to rule without a great queen by your side.” Legolas approached Aragorn and placed his hand on the startled rangers arm. “I will teach how to rule not only your kingdom, but your lady as well.” He pushed Aragorn down onto the simple cot and carefully placed his lips against soft Dunedain ones.

 

60 YEARS LATER

The Council of Elrond had just disbanded, and its members were siphoning off to their rooms. As Aragorn, King of the Dunedain, made his way out, a familiar elf brushed against him. The lips were instantly recognizable, and as they parted, Aragorn was transported back into that magical moment, when he was truly made into the king that he was meant to be.


End file.
